


Days of Decision

by piperset



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, F/M, Introspection, Late-Series, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29772498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piperset/pseuds/piperset
Summary: And as the deep indigo of the eastern sky gradually turns to a brilliant gold, CJ is struck by the sudden conviction that she is not the only one witnessing a sunrise this morning. She can feel, with almost irrational certainty, that the weight of the impending days of decision will touch lives far beyond her small corner of the White House, branching and spreading like cracks in a highway.A take on Wednesday, November 8th, 2006.
Relationships: Danny Concannon/C. J. Cregg
Comments: 24
Kudos: 14





	1. Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> Alright -- this started out as your average "Wednesday Night" piece, which I see as almost a rite of passage for the CJ/Danny writer. However, it's since evolved into something much more poetic, for lack of a better word. 
> 
> Also, I experimented a bit with present tense here. It felt a little more in line with the spur-of-the-moment, almost surreal place I want this story to live in.

When Associated Press calls Nevada for Matthew Santos, CJ becomes acutely aware of how alone she is. 

She knows that a few short streets away, people are jumping up and down, popping champagne and breathing sighs of relief. She can almost see an aide triumphantly coloring in the Silver State with a blue whiteboard marker, tracing a triumphant circle around the now-president elect’s name. She imagines Josh being lifted into the air like a team captain who just won a Homecoming game, his face red from adrenaline and his eyes wide from lack of sleep.

But CJ is not a few streets away at Santos HQ; she is in her office – which used to be Leo’s – and the West Wing is unnervingly quiet. She dismissed Will and Cliff and the rest of the senior staff hours ago. Margaret is at the hospital with Annabeth, and the President is asleep in the residence, somehow. A smattering of executive assistants are busying themselves by finishing a few outgoing tasks, but no one has come in to bother CJ since before one, so the building might as well be dormant. 

After a minute, CJ remembers her promise to the President, and makes her way to the residence to give him the election results. It’s bitingly cold, even for November, and the brief walk across the West Colonnade makes her regret leaving her coat in her office. CJ can’t deny that Jed Bartlet’s relieved smile is a comfort, though, even if she can see the same grief in his eyes that she’s been carrying around all night.

Back in her office, she switches off the television and collapses onto the couch. The condolence calls have thankfully slowed to a halt, although CJ imagines they’ll be up and running in less than three hours when the day begins again. There’s really no point in going home at this point, and having given up on sleep an hour ago, she figures she might as well try and make a dent in the stack of DoD memos on her desk.

She can’t concentrate, though, and instead her mind wanders back to an entirely different election night, eight years prior. She’d been arguing with Toby about some frivolous nuance of the electoral college, half-drunk on fatigue, when they finally called it. Then Josh had darted in and crushed them both in an enormous hug, and then Sam had joined, and then Cathy and Bonnie and Carol and Donna, the lot of them collapsing into a fit of hysterics before Leo had gone to calm them all down. CJ still remembers the words she’d exchanged with him before he'd set her loose to deal with the press gaggle waiting anxiously outside the hotel.

_“They’re gonna want comments.”_

_“Tell them the President-elect will be giving his address in an hour.”_

_“They’ll want a statement from_ me _.”_

_“They can wait.”_

_“I can’t work with that, Leo.”_

_“You’re gonna have to. You’re the press secretary now, CJ; you control the agenda.” His face was all business, but CJ could spot the proud glint in his eyes, which soon spread to his mouth in the form of a crooked smile. “Let them get used to begging from you. God knows there’ll be a lot of that once we get in office.”_

_CJ bit her bottom lip, barely suppressing a smile of her own. "Okay."_

The look on Danny Concannon’s face when she’d cooly refused to comment had been the icing on the cake.

But a lot changes in eight years, and as the first hints of blue dissipate across the horizon, CJ is once again crushed by just how separated her chosen family has become. She thought Sam and Josh and Toby, her confidants and co-sufferers, would’ve held on longer than they had – if not out of a genuine love of the position, then at least out of loyalty. And it isn’t as if CJ’s experience has been a walk in the park. 80-hour work weeks and nonexistent sleep schedule aside, being Chief of Staff is lonely – far lonelier than she ever could have imagined. Leo knew that more than anyone, and maybe that’s why his death feels less like the loss of a colleague and more like the loss of a father.

It occurs to CJ the only person who’s really stuck around is Danny. Well, he’d left on more than one occasion, breaking her heart a bit more than she cares to admit, but he’d somehow always managed to find his way back. It’s almost ironic, really, CJ thinks to herself, because out of everyone in her life, he’s probably the one she’s spent the most time trying to push away.

They’d maintained sporadic communication since the second dinner – a word of support here, an interesting article there, mostly things that could be passed off as purely cordial. But CJ would be lying if she said her heart didn’t flutter a bit when she’d get a message from him. And as much as she’s loath to admit it, she’d begun to seriously question her decision to wait until after Inauguration to see him again. 

CJ barely has time to sleep anymore, let alone for sexual self-indulgence, but on the rare occasions when she can grab a spare moment for herself, her fantasies always feature him. It’s been that way for awhile, really – her mind wanders to Danny often without thinking (although there was a period towards the end of Bartlet’s first term where a certain hunky Secret Service agent took temporary precedence). It’s hard to say just why CJ’s subconscious has latched onto him for so long, especially with only half a dozen kisses and a goldfish under their belt, but she can’t deny that he’s captivated her ever since they met on the campaign trail.

Nonetheless, CJ accepted a while ago that whatever it was she and Danny had going on was never going to come to fruition. That isn’t to say she doesn’t ever privately mourn what could’ve been, but years of denial have taught CJ how to keep those feelings down low enough as to not interfere with her work. 

But Danny’d caught her completely off guard with his speech at the restaurant and ever since, visions of heroic postures and stark cliff faces have haunted too many of CJ’s waking hours. Needless to say, she’s spent a lot of time debating what she would’ve said had her pager not ruined the moment.

It’s nearing five a.m. now, and CJ reminds herself that the fast-approaching sunrise is likely to usher in one of the hardest days of her life – a day which will worsen if she doesn’t finish reading the briefing memos on her desk by morning. With a sigh and a heavy heart, CJ wills herself back to the present, trying her best to clear her head in preparation for the coming behemoth of a Wednesday. 

And as the deep indigo of the eastern sky gradually turns to a brilliant gold, CJ is struck by the sudden conviction that she is not the only one witnessing a sunrise this morning. She can feel, with almost irrational certainty, that the weight of the impending days of decision will touch lives far beyond her small corner of the White House, branching and spreading like cracks in a highway. Leo’s death was a flaw in the plan, but it was also a reckoning. For what, CJ doesn’t yet know – but for the first time in her life, she’s content to wait and see.


	2. Wednesday (Part 1)

The day dawns in vivid color, the sunlight nearly overwhelming CJ as it streams through the windows of her office. 

The first thing she notices is that Margaret is being almost unbearably kind. The redhead is in the building by five, armed with two vats of coffee and an immaculate itinerary that she typed up just a few hours earlier. As she and CJ review the schedule, it’s obvious neither of them has slept.

Post-election fallout would have packed the day by itself, but the loss of Leo exponentially compounds the amount of emotional labor everyone in the West Wing is doing. Aside from national security briefings and budgetary meetings, there are condolence calls to return and funeral plans to set in motion. Everyone wants to know who the next Vice President will be, and even more people do not realize that no one in the White House is remotely close to being able to make that decision. 

The one silver lining is that Leo’s death has left the press corps uncharacteristically subdued; plus, with the airways clogged with election night coverage, it’s a de-facto Take Out the Trash Day. For once, the reporters don’t hound Will Bailey at his 10am briefing, even as he fumbles a bit with the latest report from the Department of Commerce. It’s clear he hasn’t slept either. 

CJ is tense all morning, and as she listens to various heads of state ramble about the many merits of “Mr. McGarry,” she feels more and more disgusted with herself. Leo wouldn’t want these niceties getting in the way of governing, especially after such a historic election. But there’s no choice except to soldier on. Better CJ has to deal with these calls than the President.

By midday it is almost punishingly beautiful outside, and a short walk to grab lunch is beginning to sound quite attractive. CJ’s just standing up to leave when Margaret pops her head through the door.

“CJ?”

“I’m making a run for it. Want anything for lunch?”

“Danny Concannon’s on line one.”

CJ freezes just as she’s reaching for her coat.

“What?”

“Danny’s on line one.”

She blinks. “He hasn’t already left a condolence call?”

“I don’t think so.”

This is all happening way too quickly. She already knows Danny is her Achilles’ heel, sure to shatter any illusions of control she has over the day, but there’s no way she’ll be able to justify refusing him. “Okay,” she says finally, sitting back down at her desk. “I’ll take it.” Margaret nods and discreetly closes the door.

CJ’s finger hovers over the phone while she clears her head, relaxing her face into the neutral facade she’s used so many times today. Unable to procrastinate any longer, she takes the leap.

“CJ Cregg.”

“Hey.”

 _Damn_ , _his voice is so gentle._

“Hey, Danny,” she manages.

“I was supposed to call the President. They redirected me to you.”

“He’s pretty swamped today.”

“I could see why.”

A pause.

“CJ, I’m so sorry.”

The raw compassion in his voice hits her like a waterfall, and it’s all she can do to withhold tears. “Thank you," she breathes.

“I have a statement I’m supposed to read on behalf of the _Post_.”

“I’m sure it’s beautiful.”

“It’s not worth your time.”

“Okay.” 

He pauses again, and CJ can hear his breath on the other end of the wire. 

“CJ?”

“Yeah?”

She can almost feel his gaze on her, even through the phone, and her guard is slipping. It’s always like this with him. _Why is it always like this with him?_

“I know you’re probably spending a lot of today being brave.”

She doesn't respond.

“And I won’t be the eightieth person to tell you how admirable it is, because I know you don’t have a choice.” He pauses, and when he continues, his voice is somehow even kinder than it was before. “But just know that, y’know, if there’s anything you need...”

“Anything I…?”

“We all grieve differently, CJ.” 

_Where did that come from?_

“What?” she asks breathlessly.

He backtracks, choosing his words carefully. “We all grieve differently, but no one can grieve alone. I don’t know what your needs are, or what your support system looks like. But if there’s anything you need from _me_ …” he trails off. “Well, you know where to find me.”

There’s silence for a good few seconds, although CJ’s mind is racing, trying to process what Danny’s dancing around. In her panic, she fumbles the moment, retreating into her defensive refuge of dry humor.

“Is the _Washington Post_ always this sincere in their condolence calls?” 

Danny sighs on the other end of the line, and CJ’s stomach drops a little, immediately regretting her feeble attempt to lighten the mood. “Jesus, CJ. You know that wasn’t the _Washington Post_.”

“I’m sorry,” she stammers. “That was–”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’ll let you go now. Send my love to President Bartlet.”

CJ blinks back tears as the stress of the past 18 hours threatens to burst loose. “I will,” she whispers. She spends another moment trying to figure out how to end the call gracefully, until finally:

“Thank you.”

But the line’s already dead and she’s met with a dial tone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that turned out a bit more angsty than I anticipated! Also, this was going to be two chapters but now it is three, because I needed a distinct separation between Wednesday "day" and Wednesday "night." Also, I'm the author and I can do as I please :)


	3. Wednesday (Part 2)

It’s past midnight when CJ finds herself staring down the door to Danny Concannon’s apartment, her mind locked in a silent debate over whether she’s really going ahead with this.

There’s really no reason why she should be here. CJ’s only just escaped the White House, and the sane course of action would be to go straight home for a shower and some rest. The rational side of her brain knows that a late-night rendezvous with her old flame is the last thing she needs, adding further complexity to an already unnavigable day.

But what if it doesn’t have to be that way? For one, Danny’s never hid his feelings from her, and his offer earlier was pretty straightforward.

_“If there’s anything you need from me… well, you know where to find me.”_

He’d obviously been making her an offer – plus, he wouldn’t have called if he didn’t still care about her. And the more CJ thinks about it, the more she begins to suspect that her own feelings for him aren’t all that complicated either. 

Before she has time to process, CJ is suddenly struck by a near-dehabilitating flash of clarity. Leo’s _gone_ , goddamnit, and she’s going to be out of a job in two and a half months. The defense mechanisms she’s depended on for survival are soon to be rendered futile, leaving her with nothing more than a neglected apartment and an appalling lack of human skills (as Danny’d so obnoxiously pointed out a few weeks back). 

And yet, he’d come back for her. Despite the pushbacks and the distance and the manipulation, Danny Concannon had come back, opened his heart, and given her space to grieve. 

CJ isn’t sure more grief is what she needs tonight, but she has a feeling whatever she _does_ need lies just behind the modest white door at her eye level. So before she can talk herself out of it for the millionth time, CJ draws in a breath and knocks twice.

Immediately, one of her guard moves to stand in front of her, and a few seconds later, the door swings open.

Danny’s wearing jeans and a Notre Dame sweater, and his face bears an expression of faint surprise as he lets the agent in to sweep his apartment. CJ doesn’t dare say anything while she’s out in the open, but she can’t help but marvel at the sight of him outside the White House.

Then the agent is back and nods to Danny, who thanks him and gestures for CJ to enter. The door is closed a few seconds later and just like that, she’s crossed the threshold into his private sphere.

They stand in the entryway for a good few seconds, neither one daring to jump into things. Eventually, CJ can’t bear the silence anymore.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

“Sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming. I should have called.”

“Don’t worry about it. I made the offer.”

CJ smiles gratefully, and takes a look around his apartment. It’s small, but the decor is tasteful and charmingly old-fashioned.The living room is lined with a scarlet oriental rug, featuring a small couch and two mismatched armchairs that somehow manage to look cohesive. The walls are lined with at least a dozen pictures, varying from lush foreign landscapes to cozy portraits of people CJ can only assume are Danny’s relatives. There’s even a small frame of Danny himself on the White House front lawn, sporting a shameless grin and carrying a rather familiar goldfish. 

“Nice place,” she says, and she means it. 

“Thanks.”

“You have an eye for this stuff. It’s comforting in here.”

“I stopped at a lot of consignment shops when I was abroad. I wasn’t an old furniture guy until the first picture frame – but it’s gotten out of hand since then. You might be able to tell from the walls.”

CJ smiles nervously, but doesn’t answer. Danny changes course.

“Do you want to sit down?”

CJ’s caught a bit by surprise. “Can I take off my coat first?”

“Of course, just hang it here.”

“Okay.”

CJ removes her coat and hangs it from a nearby hook tacked to the wall. All the while, Danny keeps looking at her intently, trying to gauge where the day’s left her.

She turns back to face him, and neither of them make a move to leave the entryway. 

When Danny speaks again, his voice is soft and understanding.

“How’re you feeling, Claudia Jean?”

She smiles wearily at his words.

“Honestly? Like I’ve been repeatedly hit by a truck every day for the last year and a half.”

“That’s fair. C’mere.”

He steps forward and embraces her. His touch is soothing, not intimate, but it’s still dizzying for CJ to feel herself against him. She can't help letting out a small sigh when she buries her head into his shoulder. 

“You’re good at this,” she says after a while as he strokes her back.

“What?”

She smiles into his neck, relishing in the smell of his aftershave. “Making me feel better.”

She can feel his face turn go warm when he blushes.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

It’s such a tender moment that they’re both reluctant to pull away. CJ’s heart is racing, though, and she knows that if she wants to take the leap, it’s now or never.

“Danny, can I be honest with you?”

“Sure.”

“I didn’t come here to talk.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to.”

CJ narrows her eyes slightly. “I’m just saying that because I don’t want you to think I’m using you as a therapist.”

“You’re not.” 

“I came here because I wanted to see you.”

Danny’s face lights up so brilliantly it almost breaks her heart.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They’re still standing in the doorway, staring each other down.

“Oh, god _damn_ it!” she exclaims, breaking her eyes away from his.

Danny is suddenly concerned. “What is it?”

“Danny, I know I’ve been a disaster these past few years.”

“Hey, you were never–”

But she’s thinking aloud now, and there’s no turning back. “I’ve been closed off and distant, and it wasn’t because of anything you _did_ ; I mean, other than being irredeemably charming and distractingly gorgeous.”

He looks at her, amazed.

“CJ…”

“And I can’t _believe_ I had all those opportunities to take you out but instead all I did was grab you and kiss you like a horny teenager–”

He laughs in spite of himself. “That was _fine_ , believe me.”

But she silences him with a blazing look that cuts straight to his core.

“Danny, it’s late and we’re both running on fumes.”

He swallows. “I know.”

She takes an almost immeasurable step closer to him. “So do you think we could maybe…” 

He raises his eyebrows. “Skip the push and pull for a night?”

She smiles coyly. 

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Danny’s blushing profusely now, and before he can say another word, CJ closes the gap between them and presses her mouth against his.

Their kiss is hungry and impatient and exactly the same as CJ remembers. Her hand trails down Danny’s side, reacquainting herself with the shape of his body. God, it’s been so long, but it still gives her goosebumps.

Danny tenses up at the initial meeting mostly out of caution, but before long he’s kissing her back, letting his hand wind its way up into her hair as he relaxes against her. He’s letting her lead at first, not wanting to get ahead of himself. But after a whine and an expectant tug at his belt, he takes the hint and deepens his kisses, using his free hand to maneuver her against the wall.

CJ can’t help letting out a low moan when she feels Danny slip his tongue between her slightly parted lips. There’s a wonderful novelty in being able to kiss him indefinitely, without fear of being discovered, and part of CJ is tempted to leave it at that for the time being. But the telltale warmth that’s spreading between her legs is articulating an entirely different need altogether, so she grows bolder in her movements, relishing in the small gasps he lets out as she grinds sporadically against his erection.

Before long, Danny’s kisses are covering more territory, and CJ’s breath catches when he nips at her neck. He leaves a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses across her collarbone, and it’s all CJ can do to keep from whimpering. The warmth between her legs has now developed into a persistent throbbing, which peaks as she feels his hand brush against her breast. 

_“Danny…”_ she says breathlessly.

He groans as he kisses her breasts through her blouse, letting one of his hands tease at her hips.

“ _God_ CJ, when you say my name like that…”

“Yeah?”

He shakes his head. “A guy doesn’t get bored of that.”

“Well, I’m not getting bored of _this_ …”

She moans as Danny slips a hand beneath the waistband of her skirt, using the other one to begin unzipping the clasp.

“ _Don’t stop…”_

He doesn’t, and before long, CJ’s been divested of her bottoms, breathing heavily as Danny slowly builds pressure at her core. He can feel how wet she is through her underwear, which only increases his own arousal. It isn’t long before CJ begins to writhe against him, caught between the wall and his deftly moving fingers.

“CJ?”

“Mmm?”

He slips his index finger beneath her underwear. “Should we get rid of this?”

She nods profusely, and he joins his mouth with hers as he slides the fabric down her legs. Before CJ can process, he’s touching her again, rubbing circles around her clit as her mind goes blissfully blank. Her legs begin to tremble, struggling to support her weight as she stands pinned against the wall. CJ knows she’s going over the edge any minute now, and a small voice in the back of her head worries that once she does, she won’t be able to come back. But that minority is immediately drowned out by the conviction that she and Danny had passed the point of no return a long time ago, and tonight was only proof of concept. Plus, the way he’s working her feels so good, she’s in no right mind to stop.

The tension reaches its peak less than a minute later, and she calls out her lover’s name as she spirals back to Earth, rocking against him in a shroud of hormones and fluttery breaths. Danny holds her steadily on the comedown, gazing at her flushed face with an expression of childlike wonder. 

When her breathing has died down a bit, he traces her jawline idly with his finger, his face inches from hers.

“CJ…” 

To his surprise, she lets out an uncharacteristic giggle. 

“Hi, Danny.”

He grins. “Hanging in there?”

“You could say that.”

“Past it?”

CJ raises her eyebrows at the familiar question. 

“Lead me to the bedroom and see for yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo, scandalous...
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed reading this piece as much as I loved writing it. :)

**Author's Note:**

> "Days of Decision" is also a song by the late Phil Ochs, who I feel matches the socialist spirit I like to bring to my West Wing stories. I'd highly recommend checking him out; his album "I Ain't Marching Anymore" is an all-time favorite.


End file.
